CHAPTER XXXI.
SHOWING HOW MAJOR GRANTLY RETURNED TO GUESTWICK.
Grace, when she was left alone, threw herself upon the sofa, and hidher face in her hands. She was weeping almost hysterically, and hadbeen utterly dismayed and frightened by her lover's impetuosity.Things had gone after a fashion which her imagination had not paintedto her as possible. Surely she had the power to refuse the man if shepleased. And yet she felt as she lay there weeping that she did intruth belong to him as part of his goods, and that her generosity hadbeen foiled. She had especially resolved that she would not confessto any love for him. She had made no such confession. She had guardedherself against doing so with all the care which she knew how touse. But he had assumed the fact, and she had been unable to denyit. Could she have lied to him, and have sworn that she did not lovehim? Could she have so perjured herself, even in support of hergenerosity? Yes, she would have done so,--so she told herself,--if amoment had been given to her for thought. She ought to have done so,and she blamed herself for being so little prepared for the occasion.The lie would be useless now. Indeed, she would have no opportunityfor telling it; for of course she would not answer,--would not evenread his letter. Though he might know that she loved him, yet shewould not be his wife. He had forced her secret from her, but hecould not force her to marry him. She did love him, but he shouldnever be disgraced by her love.
After a while she was able to think of his conduct, and she believedthat she ought to be very angry with him. He had taken her roughly inhis arms, and had insulted her. He had forced a kiss from her. Shehad felt his arms warm and close and strong about her, and had notknown whether she was in paradise or in purgatory. She was very angrywith him. She would send back his letter to him without readingit,--without opening it, if that might be possible. He had done thatto her which nothing could justify. But yet,--yet,--yet how dearlyshe loved him! Was he not a prince of men? He had behaved badly, ofcourse; but had any man ever behaved so badly before in so divine away? Was it not a thousand pities that she should be driven to denyanything to a lover who so richly deserved everything that could begiven to him? He had kissed her hand as he let her go, and now, notknowing what she did, she kissed the spot on which she had felt hislips. His arm had been round her waist, and the old frock which shewore should be kept by her for ever, because it had been so graced.
What was she now to say to Lily and to Lily's mother? Of one thingthere was no doubt. She would never tell them of her lover's wickedaudacity. That was a secret never to be imparted to any ears. Shewould keep her resentment to herself, and not ask the protection ofany vicarious wrath. He could never so sin again, that was certain;and she would keep all knowledge and memory of the sin for her ownpurposes. But how could it be that such a man as that, one so goodthough so sinful, so glorious though so great a trespasser, shouldhave come to such a girl as her and have asked for her love? Then shethought of her father's poverty and the misery of her own condition,and declared to herself that it was very wonderful.
Lily was the first to enter the room, and she, before she did so,learned from the servant that Major Grantly had left the house. "Iheard the door, miss, and then I saw the top of his hat out of thepantry window." Armed with this certain information Lily entered thedrawing-room, and found Grace in the act of rising from the sofa.
"Am I disturbing you?" said Lily.
"No; not at all. I am glad you have come. Kiss me, and be good tome." And she twined her arms about Lily and embraced her.
"Am I not always good to you, you simpleton? Has he been good?"
"I don't know what you mean?"
"And have you been good to him?"
"As good as I knew how, Lily."
"And where is he?"
"He has gone away. I shall never see him any more, Lily."
Then she hid her face upon her friend's shoulder and broke forthagain into hysterical tears.
"But tell me, Grace, what he said;--that is, if you mean to tell me!"
"I will tell you everything;--that is, everything I can." And Graceblushed as she thought of the one secret which she certainly wouldnot tell.
"Has he,--has he done what I said he would do? Come, speak outboldly. Has he asked you to be his wife?"
"Yes," said Grace, barely whispering the word.
"And you have accepted him?"
"No, Lily, I have not. Indeed, I have not. I did not know how tospeak, because I was surprised;--and he, of course, could say whathe liked. But I told him as well as I could, that I would not marryhim."
"And why;--did you tell him why?"
"Yes; because of papa!"
"Then, if he is the man I take him to be, that answer will go fornothing. Of course he knew all that before he came here. He did notthink you were an heiress with forty thousand pounds. If he is inearnest, that will go for nothing. And I think he is in earnest."
"And so was I in earnest."
"Well, Grace;--we shall see."
"I suppose I may have a will of my own, Lily."
"Do not be so sure of that. Women are not allowed to have wills oftheir own on all occasions. Some man comes in a girl's way, and shegets to be fond of him, just because he does come in her way. Well;when that has taken place, she has no alternative but to be taken ifhe chooses to take her; or to be left, if he chooses to leave her."
"Lily, don't say that."
"But I do say it. A man may assure himself that he will find forhimself a wife who shall be learned, or beautiful, or six feethigh, if he wishes it, or who has red hair, or red eyes, or redcheeks,--just what he pleases; and he may go about till he finds it,as you can go about and match your worsteds. You are a fool if youbuy a colour you don't want. But we can never match our worstedsfor that other piece of work, but are obliged to take any colourthat comes,--and, therefore, it is that we make such a jumble of it!Here's mamma. We must not be philosophical before her. Mamma, MajorGrantly has--skedaddled."
"Oh, Lily, what a word!"
"But, oh, mamma, what a thing! Fancy his going away and not saying aword to anybody!"
"If he had anything to say to Grace, I suppose he said it."
"He asked her to marry him, of course. We none of us had any doubtabout that. He swore to her that she and none but she should be hiswife,--and all that kind of thing. But he seems to have done it inthe most prosaic way;--and now he has gone away without saying a wordto any of us. I shall never speak to him again,--unless Grace asksme."
"Grace, my dear, may I congratulate you?" said Mrs. Dale.
Grace did not answer, as Lily was too quick for her. "Oh, she hasrefused him, of course. But Major Grantly is a man of too much senseto expect that he should succeed the first time. Let me see; this isthe fourteenth. These clocks run fourteen days, and, therefore, youmay expect him again about the twenty-eighth. For myself, I think youare giving him an immense deal of unnecessary trouble, and that if heleft you in the lurch it would only serve you right; but you have theworld with you, I'm told. A girl is supposed to tell a man two fibsbefore she may tell him one truth."
"I told him no fib, Lily. I told him that I would not marry him, andI will not."
"But why not, dear Grace?" said Mrs. Dale.
"Because the people say that papa is a thief!" Having said this,Grace walked slowly out of the room, and neither Mrs. Dale nor Lilyattempted to follow her.
"She's as good as gold," said Lily, when the door was closed.
"And he;--what of him?"
"I think he is good, too; but she has told me nothing yet of whathe has said to her. He must be good, or he would not have come downhere after her. But I don't wonder at his coming, because she is sobeautiful! Once or twice as we were walking back to-day, I thoughther face was the most lovely that I had ever seen. And did you seeher just now, as she spoke of her father?"
"Oh, yes;--I saw her."
"Think what she will be in two or three years' time, when she becomesa woman. She talks French, and Italian, and Hebrew for anything thatI know; and she is pe
rfectly beautiful. I never saw a more lovelyfigure;--and she has spirit enough for a goddess. I don't think thatMajor Grantly is such a fool after all."
"I never took him for a fool."
"I have no doubt all his own people do;--or they will, when they hearof it. But, mamma, she will grow to be big enough to walk atop of allthe Lady Hartletops in England. It will all come right at last."
"You think it will?"
"Oh, yes. Why should it not? If he is worth having, it will;--andI think he is worth having. He must wait till this horrid trial isover. It is clear to me that Grace thinks that her father will beconvicted."
"But he cannot have taken the money."
"I think he took it, and I think it wasn't his. But I don't think hestole it. I don't know whether you can understand the difference."
"I am afraid a jury won't understand it."
"A jury of men will not. I wish they could put you and me on it,mamma. I would take my best boots and eat them down to the heels, forGrace's sake, and for Major Grantly's. What a good-looking man heis!"
"Yes, he is."
"And so like a gentleman! I'll tell you what, mamma; we won't sayanything to her about him for the present. Her heart will be so fullshe will be driven to talk, and we can comfort her better in thatway." The mother and daughter agreed to act upon these tactics, andnothing more was said to Grace about her lover on that evening.
Major Grantly walked from Mrs. Dale's house to the inn and orderedhis gig, and drove himself out of Allington, almost withoutremembering where he was or whither he was going. He was thinkingsolely of what had just occurred, and of what, on his part, shouldfollow as the result of that meeting. Half at least of the nobledeeds done in this world are due to emulation, rather than to thenative nobility of the actors. A young man leads a forlorn hopebecause another young man has offered to do so. Jones in thehunting-field rides at an impracticable fence because he is told thatSmith took it three years ago. And Walker puts his name down for tenguineas at a charitable dinner, when he hears Thompson's read out forfive. And in this case the generosity and self-denial shown by Gracewarmed and cherished similar virtues within her lover's breast. Somefew weeks ago Major Grantly had been in doubt as to what his dutyrequired of him in reference to Grace Crawley; but he had no doubtwhatsoever now. In the fervour of his admiration he would have gonestraight to the archdeacon, had it been possible, and have told himwhat he had done and what he intended to do. Nothing now shouldstop him;--no consideration, that is, either as regarded money orposition. He had pledged himself solemnly, and he was very glad thathe had pledged himself. He would write to Grace and explain to herthat he trusted altogether in her father's honour and innocence, butthat no consideration as to that ought to influence either him or herin any way. If, independently of her father, she could bring herselfto come to him and be his wife, she was bound to do so now, let theposition of her father be what it might. And thus, as he drove hisgig back towards Guestwick, he composed a very pretty letter to thelady of his love.
And as he went, at the corner of the lane which led from the mainroad up to Guestwick cottage, he again came upon John Eames, whowas also returning to Guestwick. There had been a few words spokenbetween Lady Julia and Johnny respecting Major Grantly after thegirls had left the cottage, and Johnny had been persuaded that thestrange visitor to Allington could have no connection with hisarch-enemy. "And why has he gone to Allington?" John demanded,somewhat sternly, of his hostess.
"Well; if you ask me, I think he has gone there to see your cousin,Grace Crawley."
"He told me that he knew Grace," said John, looking as though he wereconscious of his own ingenuity in putting two and two together verycleverly.
"Your cousin Grace is a very pretty girl," said Lady Julia.
"It's a long time since I've seen her," said Johnny.
"Why, you saw her just this minute," said Lady Julia.
"I didn't look at her," said Johnny. Therefore, when he again metMajor Grantly, having continued to put two and two together withgreat ingenuity, he felt quite sure that the man had nothing to dowith the arch-enemy, and he determined to be gracious. "Did you findthem at home at Allington?" he said, raising his hat.
"How do you do again?" said the major. "Yes, I found your friend Mrs.Dale at home."
"But not her daughter, or my cousin? They were up there;--where I'vecome from. But, perhaps, they had got back before you left."
"I saw them both. They found me on the road with Mr. Dale."
"What,--the squire? Then you have seen everybody?"
"Everybody I wished to see at Allington."
"But you wouldn't stay at the 'Red Lion?'"
"Well, no. I remembered that I wanted to get back to London and asI had seen my friends, I thought I might as well hurry away."
"You knew Mrs. Dale before, then?"
"No, I didn't. I never saw her in my life before. But I knew the oldsquire when I was a boy. However, I should have said friend. I wentto see one friend, and I saw her."
John Eames perceived that his companion put a strong emphasis on theword "her," as though he were determined to declare boldly that hehad gone to Allington solely to see Grace Crawley. He had not theslightest objection to recognizing in Major Grantly a suitor for hiscousin's hand. He could only reflect what an unusually fortunate girlGrace must be if such a thing could be true. Of those poor Crawleyshe had only heard from time to time that their misfortunes were asnumerous as the sands on the sea-shore, and as unsusceptible of anyfixed and permanent arrangement. But, as regarded Grace, here wouldbe a very permanent arrangement. Tidings had reached him that Gracewas a great scholar, but he had never heard much of her beauty. Itmust probably be the case that Major Grantly was fond of Greek. Therewas, he reminded himself, no accounting for tastes; but as nothingcould be more respectable than such an alliance, he thought that itwould become him to be civil to the major.
"I hope you found her quite well. I had barely time to speak to hermyself."
"Yes, she was very well. This is a sad thing about her father."
"Very sad," said Johnny. Perhaps the major had heard about theaccusation for the first time to-day, and was going to find an escapeon that plea. If such was the case, it would not be so well to beparticularly civil.
"I believe Mr. Crawley is a cousin of yours?" said the major.
"His wife is my mother's first-cousin. Their mothers were sisters."
"She is an excellent woman."
"I believe so. I don't know much about them myself,--that is,personally. Of course I have heard of this charge that has been madeagainst him. It seems to me to be a great shame."
"Well, I can't exactly say that it is a shame. I do not know thatthere has been anything done with a feeling of persecution or ofcruelty. It is a great mystery, and we must have it cleared up if wecan."
"I don't suppose he can have been guilty," said Johnny.
"Certainly not in the ordinary sense of the word. I heard all theevidence against him."
"Oh, you did?"
"Yes," said the major. "I live near them in Barsetshire, and I am oneof his bailsmen."
"Then you are an old friend, I suppose?"
"Not exactly that; but circumstances make me very much interestedabout them. I fancy that the cheque was left in his house byaccident, and that it got into his hands he didn't know how, and thatwhen he used it he thought it was his."
"That's queer," said Johnny.
"He is very odd, you know."
"But it's a kind of oddity that they don't like at the assizes."
"The great cruelty is," said the major, "that whatever may be theresult, the punishment will fall so heavily upon his wife anddaughters. I think the whole county ought to come forward and takethem by the hand. Well, good-by. I'll drive on, as I'm a little in ahurry."
"Good-by," said Johnny. "I'm very glad to have had the pleasure ofmeeting you." "He's a good sort of a fellow after all," he said tohimself when the gig had passed on. "He wouldn't have talked in thatway
if he had meant to hang back."